Dying: A Short Story

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I couldn’t breathe. The ground swayed beneath my feet. The grief-stricken faces around me blurred together. My throat began to close up and I squeezed my eyes tightly, brimming with tears. I hoped, maybe, this was just a horrible nightmare and I would wake up and everything would be fine. That this was just a figment of my imagination and when I opened my eyes, they would be okay. That they would still be alive. But this was no dream. My parents were gone. The doorbell rang and its tone resonated throughout the house. Two weeks had passed since my parents’ death and the grief was drowning me. I carefully placed the picture of my parents on my desk and trudged to the door. He was here. My perfect older brother from Yale. You know that one kid that every …show more content…

Pictures were shattered and their room, that I had so perfectly tried to preserve was trashed. Clothes were scattered on the floor and furniture was flipped over. At that moment, all my pent up anger and sadness and grief burst through. Overwhelmed by my emotions, I just collapsed and began to cry. Ugly wet sobs erupted from my chest. I mourned. I mourned for my parents that I never got to say goodbye to. I mourned for the brother I had seemingly lost. I mourned for all the lost moments I would never have because of my broken family. Through my tears, I saw my brother standing in front of the fireplace mantle. The flames still burned brightly and cast gauntly shadows on my brother’s face. He held a picture frame in his hand, and although I was too far away to see the picture, I knew what it was. Standing up, I walked over to my brother and embraced him in a hug. He too, grieved over the loss of our parents. Tears wet his cheeks and Instead of opening mourning, he chose to cover up his grief. He went out and partied. He put on a fake facade of

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